Jackie had crawled away and was getting to her feet. The man reached for her but only caught air. Lainie lay next to a short, three-tiered bookcase and she grabbed a marble paperweight from the bottom shelf. She swung in a wide arc and connected with the man’s elbow. He howled, pulled his arm in close to his side, and Jackie kept moving.
Lainie rolled over and tried to stand. She had her weight on her right foot when he shoved the bookcase over on top of her. Her foot slipped, making her leg twist, and she felt something pull in her knee.
He pushed her onto her back and straddled her. Pain from her knee shot up her leg. She dug fingernails into his forearms and scratched deeply enough to leave bloody furrows, but he merely reared back and quickly broke her grip. He grabbed the collar of her shirt, lifted her head and hit her twice with his fist. Black pinpoints exploded behind her eyes. He let her head drop and it thumped on the hardwood floor. She heard his voice, low and guttural, muttering Miles’s name, which made no sense. Room and man blurred. Awareness tapered off, only the throbbing in her leg kept her conscious.
As her resistance ebbed, he started to rise, probably to go after Jackie. Lainie panted, tried to stay conscious. She couldn’t afford to pass out. Something loomed, she caught a flash of movement and a thud, and then his dead weight dropped onto her.
Jackie Lyn stood over them, clutching a cast-iron skillet in both hands. She lifted it to strike again, but the man wasn’t moving. His blood soaked Lainie’s shirt, along with something else that she gradually realized was oozing, lukewarm bacon grease.
When she tried to get out from under him and away from the flow of blood, she couldn’t budge him. Spasms of pain shot up and down her right leg and rendered that limb useless. She anchored her left foot against a sofa leg and strained with shoulders and arms. Her breath came in short gasps.
Jackie’s gaze never left the man as she stepped away and reached for the phone on an end table. She punched numbers in and then recited her address in a voice devoid of emotion. Her attention on him, the skillet at grabbing distance and her eyes as focused as a frightened animal’s, Jackie cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder and tightened the sash that was holding the robe closed. It didn’t appear she wore anything under it.
Lainie continued to push at the man’s dead weight. Jackie put the phone down and picked up the skillet. Holding the weapon ready, she put her right foot on the man’s rump. His weight shifted, Jackie changed position to shove with her foot at his shoulders, and Lainie coordinated her efforts with Jackie’s. He rolled off onto the floor with a thump. Lainie noted the physical distress the exertion had cost Jackie, and knew that her friend was hurting. Lainie turned onto her side, bent her knee, and the throbbing in her leg began to ease.
Jackie sat on the fallen bookcase, lifted the phone to her ear and said in a dull tone, “Yes, I’m still here.” She held the skillet in her lap. Even as the distant sirens grew louder, she never once looked away from the man’s motionless form at her feet.
*
Lainie’s knee was sprained. It was barely swollen, not even bruised, and if she kept it still she was fine. But when she jarred it, she wanted to scream. It’d heal with time and therapy. Because her face was sore, she asked the hospital staff for a hand mirror, then wished she hadn’t. Her left eye was turning purple, the skin over her cheekbone looked like raw meat, and her lip was split. None of the medical staff attending her had information about Jackie.
Reed and Miles were waiting when she was wheeled out of X-ray. The younger man was white-faced. The older man stood back, said nothing.
“Jackie?” she asked.
“They say she’s all right,” Reed said, voice tight. “Ray and Margene are with her.”
Standing next to his boss, he could’ve been dwarfed by Miles’s bulk, but Reed had a commanding air about him that wouldn’t allow him to be dwarfed. He put his hand lightly on hers at the side of the wheelchair.
“Sorry.” She turned her fingers under his, gripped his hand and squeezed. “Forgot the movie.”
He knelt beside her, lowered his head and closed his eyes. His other hand gripped the chair’s arm so tightly his knuckles turned white. The orderly behind Lainie’s chair waited.
Lainie looked at Miles, who hadn’t moved. He wore mismatched clothing, his hair was uncombed, and his lower face was covered with gray bristle. His color was ashen, expression stark, much the same as when she’d been bucked off Glory. But there was no sign of fear or solicitousness, concern or relief—just coldness, hardness. He frightened her.
“It’s okay, Miles. I’m okay.” She lifted her free hand toward him.
He stepped forward, took her hand and gently, very gently, squeezed it. Then he laid her hand in her lap and stepped back. His expression didn’t change.
Reed straightened and attempted to take charge of the chair from the orderly, but the man explained that wasn’t allowed. Reed’s eyes narrowed. Heading off the clash, Lainie took his hand again, then movement at the hall’s intersection caught her eye.
Raymond and Margene turned the corner. Tears streamed down Ray’s face. “That son of a bitch. That son of a bitch.”
Lainie locked gazes with Margene.
“She has to stay the night,” Margene told her. “Three broken ribs. Painkiller put her out, and she needs to sleep.” She stopped, faltered. “To get away from it, and to rest. We’ll take her home in the morning. She’ll be okay.” She looked into space beyond Lainie, and repeated, as if telling herself, “She’ll be okay.”
“That son of a bitch.”
Miles clasped an arm around the man’s shoulders. “Ray. She’s going to be all right.” Ray was almost as tall, but rail-thin. His eyes were liquid pools of helpless rage.
“My little girl. That son of a bitch, Miles. That son of a bitch.”
“Let’s walk.” Miles steered him away.
Margene looked after them. “Once he gets her home, under his wing, it’ll be better for him.” Her voice was slow, quiet, with pain in it, but also a kind of velvet-wrapped strength. She breathed in, out, and seemed to gain stamina with the breath. “The doctors don’t think she’ll need cosmetic work. Her face will heal. She’ll need a dentist, though. Lost some teeth.”
Reed reached out, put his hand on Margene’s shoulder and squeezed. She looked at him, nodded. “I’m going back now, just to sit with her.” She looked at Lainie. “You take care.” Her voice cracked. “You hear?”
Lainie took her hand, held it in both of hers. “Margene, I’m so sorry. I want to see her...when she...as soon as she...if the doctor says...as soon as I can.”
“I know,” Margene said. “I’ll tell her.” Her hand squeezed Lainie’s in return, then she pulled hers free and left.
Equipped with pain pills, crutches and a knee brace, Lainie was released that night. The hospital staff had cut her jeans off, so she wore a blue-checkered hospital gown under the black jacket. Miles and Reed retrieved her car, and Reed drove her home in it. Miles followed in Reed’s truck. She kept herself in check until they drove through the Lone Tree gate, then she lost it. Sobs and tears spilled out of her like an overflowing dam.
Reed sent several glances her way but didn’t attempt to shush her. He parked in front of his house, got out and came around to her side to help her hobble to the house door. The red truck was still behind the sedan, engine idling, when she entered the house.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Before a week had passed, every ranch hand had visited Lainie at least once, each person bearing flowers, candy, balloons or stuffed animals. Luke couldn’t make up his mind so had brought all four. Somehow Reed had found a place for everything; his house resembled a gift shop.
Nelly, her first visitor, had presented her with a nosegay of wildflowers in a tin can wrapped in aluminum foil. The simple offering made her eyes mist. Setting his homemade vase on the end table, he withdrew an apple from his pocket.
“I feed this to Glory for you, soon as I get back. I don
e explain how things be to her, and she waitin’ for you, till you back on your feet again.”
“Thanks, Nelly.”
His gaze stayed on her as he slipped the apple back into his pocket. His head moved in a barely discernable nod. “You be okay, I’m thinkin.”
“Yes. I am.”
He continued to stand there, solemn-faced, holding his hat in his hands. “Miss Jackie need your help, need all our help. I’m prayin’ for her.”
A tear welled and rolled down her cheek.
Shuffling over to where she sat in the armchair, he bent, stiffly because of the restrictive arthritis, and gave her a light peck on the cheek. Then he took his leave, walking slowly with innate dignity.
Surprising her, Randy showed up on his own, and he reacted to her injury with such intensity it seemed he was the one in pain. He’d probably realized how easily it could’ve been Bobbie Ann who’d wandered into that house and blundered into Carl Henry. From his broken sentences, she got a glimmer of the ongoing ordeal in the Cooper household, and his deep respect for the family came through loud and clear.
Jackie had gone home with her parents and was giving up her small house. Lainie guessed she’d never feel safe there again; Lainie doubted she herself would ever feel safe in it. Randy was helping Ray move her furniture into storage. Once Jackie was ready to be on her own again, she’d find another place.
Their only contact was by phone, at Lainie’s instigation, and regardless of how she worded a question or statement, she got wooden responses. She was worried about Jackie, needed to see her, but her injured knee rendered her immobile. Because her friend hadn’t yet been moved to place a simple phone call, it was doubtful she could be enticed into making a personal visit. But Lainie called, issued the invitation anyway, and wasn’t surprised when it was declined.
The phone rang only minutes after she hung up. She answered, expecting to take a message for Reed.
“Hi, this is Bobbie.” She sounded too cheerful, like her voice was forced. “We talked Jackie into getting out for a while after all. We can be there in an hour if the offer still holds.”
“Then get on over here. Best news I had all day.” Lainie put the receiver in its cradle and stared at it. She realized Jackie’s family didn’t know how to help her, and hoped that Lainie could. But the truth was she didn’t know how either.
Then she looked up, her mind lighting upon the practicality of receiving company. Refreshments were in order, but she couldn’t get around well enough to make anything. She called Rosalie, who sounded both pleased and amused with her hesitant request, and promised to send over fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
Her guests arrived, and Lainie’s worry doubled itself. Jackie was healing physically, though her face still bore signs of discoloration, but the psychological scars ran bone-deep, surrounding her like an aura. She was listless, yet anxious, both distant and skittish. She held no animation or glow; it appeared she was merely performing the daily motions of living.
Miles delivered the cinnamon rolls and a fresh pot of coffee. The pleasing scents trailed him as he walked through the doorway. “I’m inviting myself,” he said.
Lainie was surprised, but not displeased. He carried a small paper bag he handed to Bobbie. She gave him a curious look.
“We put a couple in there for you and Randy,” he explained. “He’s out at the stable, lookin’ this way and workin’ slow-like, puttin’ a saddle on Vindication. My guess is he could be talked into throwin’ a saddle onto Glory for you, if you ask real nice.”
Delight crossed Bobbie’s face, but she quickly sobered. She looked at Jackie, who nodded. “Go,” she said, no inflection in her voice.
Bobbie hesitated, and Lainie spoke up. “Get outta here. Glory needs the exercise.”
Miles pointed to the door, and Bobbie made up her mind. “Yessir!” She stood on tiptoe to hug him, then was gone.
Miles poured coffee for the three of them, treating Lainie and Jackie as his guests, having no difficulty playing host in Reed’s house. Surveying the cinnamon rolls with a practiced eye, he chose the biggest one. Delicately, he sniffed its fragrance before biting into it. He glanced at Lainie who sat at one end of the sofa.
“It’s legal,” he assured her. “She put one in there for me, too. But only one.” As he did with all treats, he ate his cinnamon roll slowly and savored it. Despite his claim otherwise, Lainie thought he enjoyed his desserts more than his bourbon.
He made small talk, asking Jackie about her dad’s ten-year-old pickup that kept breaking down, if he’d got that new roof on the back porch yet, how Margene was handling retirement. Jackie’s replies were short and polite. Lainie remained in the background, hoping Miles could somehow get through to Jackie. He knew the Cooper family better than Lainie did.
After draining his second cup of coffee, Miles set it down. His steady gaze remained on Jackie Lyn, on the other end of the sofa from Lainie. She seemed either oblivious or uncaring of his scrutiny. He sat opposite her in the armchair. He stood, rounded the coffee table and then sat on it, situating himself directly in front of Jackie. He took her hands in his and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Jackie Lyn, you listen to me, girl. You need to understand something here. You are not responsible for what happened to you. There was nothing you could do about it. And you didn’t deserve it, not any of it. Neither were you responsible for that sprained knee Lainie’s got. The only thing happened you were responsible for was braining that brute with a skillet and putting an end to the whole thing. That took courage, Jackie Lyn, so don’t you sell yourself short. It took a whopping amount of courage to do what you did when you were already beat up so bad. By doing that, you saved yourself from more abuse, and you saved Lainie Sue over there from a lot worse than a sprained knee. You probably also saved both your lives, to boot. We owe you, girl. We’re beholden to you. I know that. We all do.”
He grew silent. Her eyes remained downcast.
“Jackie Lyn, look at me,” he said, voice soft but carrying a commanding note that expected to be obeyed.
Jackie raised her head, almost fearfully, and met his gaze.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Jackie Lyn?”
She nodded twice, slowly. She appeared mesmerized. Her throat worked as she swallowed.
His head jerked downward once in a decisive, positive gesture. “Then that’s good.”
He remained still for an instant, then leaned to kiss her on the forehead. He moved back, dropping her hands and standing. “I’m proud of you, Jackie Lyn, real proud. And I love you, girl.”
He glanced at Lainie, then again at Jackie. “Now I’m going to get out of here and leave you two to yourselves. You cry, talk it out, scream and holler if you want to. You do what you need to do, both of you. Just so long as you get started on healing.”
Jackie remained sitting upright after he left, her face like a mask as she stared into space. Lainie scooted over, careful of her knee, and then gathered Jackie in close. Slowly the mask crumpled. Tears fell one at a time, then Jackie cried in earnest, sobs shuddering throughout her body. She held Lainie so tightly it restricted her breathing. Lainie cried with her, and in her heart she thanked and blessed Miles. Jackie would make it. She’d allowed herself to start feeling again.
*
The shower water was too cold for Carl Henry. Stinkin’ jailhouses were all the same—no air conditioning and no hot water. At least he had the place to himself, except for the guard and a black scrawny guy at the end with a body and face full of wrinkles.
Carl’s head was too sore to put under the spray. Fourteen stitches. Damn bitch! Two of ’em together—twice as conniving and twice as deadly. It didn’t matter how long he had to wait to go after them, though; he’d make things right. That was a given.
Two white dudes came in, stripped down and took spots next to the black man, and the old one up and left. Just like that. Carl watched them without giving them a direct look. He didn’t recognize the one with the b
eer belly, but he’d run into the other one yesterday. They’d been headed for the same empty spot at the table with their food trays. Carl had stared him down and got the seat, but he hadn’t liked the look the man gave him. Not mean, not all hot and ready to fight, but more calculating-like, like he was sizing him up.
Carl figured it was time to get out of there. As he grabbed his towel he noted there was no guard at the door. He didn’t like the sudden disappearance of guards. From the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of the two men when they headed his way. He turned, gave them his full attention.
“You don’t want to be messin’ with me,” he warned. He kept his voice even and his gaze steady. He twisted the towel up tight to use like a whip. Neither man had a hard-on, so that wasn’t it.
He’d taken on two bruisers before and he could do it again. The one he’d won the bench seat from had something in his hand, something that glinted. The two men separated. Carl backed away at an angle, not letting either one flank him. The empty-handed one started toward him first. Not letting him get the upper hand, Carl rushed him, butted him with his head and got a handful of balls and squeezed. The dude screamed like a girl at the same instant something sliced, burning hot, into Carl’s side. He hunched, jabbed back with his elbow but missed, tried to swing around to confront the bastard but his muscles felt like putty. The useless towel floated to the floor as he felt another jab that went deeper.
He slipped in his own blood and went down.
*
Glen Charles and Lori visited Lainie and Reed on a Sunday afternoon, bringing with them homemade, melt-in-your-mouth oatmeal cookies.
“Finally broke down and hired a sitter,” Lori said. “She goes to our church, a real sweet girl, and they like her a lot. But it still makes me nervous to leave the kids. Promised we’d be back in a couple hours.” She gave an apologetic look to her husband, who sat next to her on the sofa. “For my sake. Not so much theirs.”
Lone Tree Page 21
